Cases With the Cat
by Shelly Lane
Summary: Toby describes a few cases that reformed Felicia has helped him solve. The chapters are episodic as a tribute to some of Doyle's actual novels written that way. Doyle, Titus, and Disney own all. Brekclub85 contributed ideas for a few chapters. The phrase "with issue" was a polite term in Victorian times and does not mean kids are an issue or controversy.
1. For A Cure

**For A Cure**

"_**SHERLOCK HOLMES!**_"

Any time Mrs. Hudson says someone's name like that, it's a good indication that she's upset about something. I knew she must be very angry this time, for she usually referred to the investigator as "Mr. Holmes" instead of using his first name.

"What troubles you, Mrs. Hudson?" he inquired.

She crossed her arms and pointed to something. "Being the _clever_ detective that you are, sir, perhaps you'd care to explain what that horrid THING is doing on my table!"

Mr. Holmes examined the object in question. "It's naught but a deceased rodent. Is that any cause for such agitation?"

"It's on my _table_!" she reminded him. "How did it get there?"

"You do have a cat," he responded nonchalantly. "Think you perhaps…?"

"Nonsense! She would never do such a thing! She always takes mice outside, where they belong, before she disposes of them! Besides, she's too well-mannered to walk on furniture!"

I nearly laughed. Mrs. Hudson clearly had no idea how many nights Felicia had slept in chairs or that she had managed to succeed in climbing the tree that the humans had decorated last Christmas.

"Have you considered that your feline companion may be somewhat less than a professional at executing rodents?" Mr. Holmes queried.

"She catches mice well enough! I've seen her do it!"

Mrs. Hudson had a point. Felicia was the expert mouser: She would chase and capture any mouse seen running across the floor, but the creature into her mouth, step outside, and spit the mouse out with a frown, silently scolding the rodent for making her look bad. From what I hear, she used to do something different with the mice when she still lived with Ratigan, but with Basil's nemesis gone forever, Felicia's come a long way as far as reformation.

"If I may be permitted to share my thoughts on the matter…" Dr. Watson began tentatively.

Mrs. Hudson frowned slightly. "Yes?"

"We know the cat is doing her best to keep the mice out of our home, but it occurs to me there's only one of her, and who knows how many rodents may be scampering about? Perhaps if we were to set a few traps, we could assist her in ending our rodent problem."

After considering the situation, Mr. Holmes answered, "Your compromise is rather plausible, Doctor, but I cannot bring myself to accept the conclusion that we have an infestation of myriads of small creatures. Have you heard scampering within the walls or any manner of squealing by night? We may have a few vermin, yet as there would appear to be no blatant vestiges, save for the creature on the table, I sincerely doubt Mrs. Hudson's cat is overwhelmed by a large number of rodents."

"At any rate, we should allow her to dispose of it."

Mr. Holmes nodded, and Dr. Watson opened the door and threw the dead mouse outside. Felicia immediately hurried out, and I followed.

As soon as the humans shut the door, the cat sadly shook her head. "This poor fellow died of some kind of disease! I can tell he didn't have any poison, and he isn't injured at all. It was a sudden illness."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Toby, I've lived with criminals. I know how to determine a cause of death. As is the case with many mice, this poor soul thought he should raid a human home for something to eat. However, he failed to realize how sick he really was, and he died before he had the chance to find food."

"Do you think he's contagious?"

"We should see what Dawson has to say," she replied, rapping at Basil's door. "I only hope we don't have an epidemic."

The housekeeper answered. "Yes?"

Although we domestic animals don't usually make a habit of speaking in front of mice, we still find ways to communicate with them. We gestured to the dead mouse, and Mrs. Judson promised to see that Basil investigated the matter.

When Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson were out investigating a case later that afternoon, Basil came to speak with us. He seemed worried, and I wondered if we were facing the beginning of a murder case.

"The poor chap you brought to my door appears to have met his untimely demise due to some manner of illness, for which there is currently no known cure."

I ignored Felicia's "I told you so!" glance.

"Dawson fears the worst," Basil continued. "If he cannot be of assistance in some manner, he fears the disease could develop into a pandemic throughout the empire, quite possibly infecting even humans, although cats are apparently immune to the malady."

For the longest time after he left, we were silent.

"You may have to start eating mice again," I commented.

Felicia's eyes widened in horror. "What?!"

"If you eat the sick mice, the disease won't spread. You'll actually be a hero. Think of all the lives you'll save by disposing of those who are going to die anyway."

"I hate you, Toby."

The next day, we were walking through the park when a mouse approached us.

"Cat, will you please eat me before I catch the sickness that my neighbor has?" the mouse begged. "It would be more merciful."

Felicia frowned.

"Or if you would just eat my neighbor before the illness spreads and kills my children, I would be willing to sacrifice my life if you ever want to eat another mouse later."

The world's worst criminal cat began beating her head against the nearest tree a few times.

"That does it!" she announced as soon as we got back home. "We end this now! I'm finding a cure for this before anyone else mistakes me for a mouser! The Pied Piper of Hamelin be my witness; I swear it on Bartholomew's grave!"

I was frightened. It sounded like Madame Melodrama had finally gone mad. Before I could stop her, she had managed to pry open Dr. Watson's black bag and scatter the contents all over the floor. The door opened, and the humans stepped inside the flat before I could figure out the reason for the cat's actions.

Dr. Watson gasped at the sight. I couldn't tell what he was muttering under his breath, but I don't think it was the national anthem. Mr. Holmes stared at us. For the briefest moment, I thought I saw him trying to hide a slightly amused grin.

He became more serious. "Mrs. Hudson? Might I have a word with you?"

Mrs. Hudson entered the room. "Yes, Mr. Holmes?" She noticed the tools and medications on the floor. "What has your dog done this time?!"

"I believe Toby to be innocent. Your cat is the true culprit," Mr. Holmes responded.

She gasped. "My poor kitty!" She scooped up Felicia and held her close. "I only hope she hasn't accidentally swallowed anything that could harm her!"

"From what I can gather, nothing seems to be missing," Dr. Watson commented. "I'll keep an eye on her to make sure." He began picking up the items on the floor and putting them back into his bag. "This task brings to mind the dead mouse we found on the table earlier. Certain physicians have informed me that they've had to tend a few patients who have developed an illness from mice that invaded their homes. The cure is surprisingly simple enough." He described what human doctors had been doing for their patients, how the disease could be cured, and what steps could be taken to prevent the sickness in the first place.

That was the moment I understood. Felicia had been trying to find a way to make Dr. Watson discuss the malady, the same disease that was claiming the lives of so many mice. Human society is more advanced than rodent society in many ways, so the cat had been trying to find out if humans had discovered a cure for the ailment.

After the humans had fallen asleep for the evening, Felicia found a scrap of paper and wrote everything that Dr. Watson had mentioned about the illness. She used her smallest penmanship and signed it "Bennett."

"It was the name of Dawson's friend in medical school," she explained. "With any luck, Dawson will believe the note came from him. I hope it helps save lives before the disease spreads too much."

"I'm ashamed I didn't think of a way to get the information," I confessed. "After all, I work for two detectives."

She nearly laughed. "Of course you weren't the one to think of it, dog! This job involved risking disapproval from authorities by purposely breaking rules, espionage in the form of casual eavesdropping, and forgery! It is not the kind of case a detective solves! It is work for a former criminal!"

"I guess since you found a way to avoid reverting back to your old habits of eating mice, you aren't going to be obese again like you were when you first came to live here."

Felicia rolled her eyes. "The only reason I'd ever allow myself to gain weight now is if I had a good reason."

"Like what?"

The cat thought a moment. "Perhaps if I were with issue."

"What kind of issue?"

She stared at me like I was an idiot. "You know…in the family way? Blessed? Expecting a visit from the stork? With child? In a delicate condition?"

"I still don't get it."

"Never mind. I have to slip this paper under Basil's door so Dawson can read it as soon as he wakes up tomorrow."

When she finished her errand, Felicia curled up on her favorite cushion. "May you have nightmares even worse than the terrors you experience by day."

I frowned. "Who says 'good night' like that?!"

"Ratigan's former henchmen." She yawned. "Sleep behind bars."

"Does that mean 'pass out drunk behind a tavern' or 'go to sleep and wake up in jail the next morning'?"

"You're about one question away from a good night kiss, sleuth!"

I had a feeling the cat was bluffing. I don't think Felicia wanted to kiss me good night any more than I wanted her to do so, but an intelligent investigator never underestimates the cunning cruelty of a former felon, so I settled down and went to sleep.


	2. For A Cloth

**For A Cloth**

I made no protest as the baby mouse began chewing on my ear. The parents had asked Basil to watch the infant for the day, but as he didn't care for children, he had immediately placed the young mouse in our care, for we considered the baby to be our own nephew.

"The humans are gone," Felicia remarked. "Watch this." Carefully holding the baby, she stood before the nearest mirror.

Our nephew stared in fascination at his own reflection. Who was that other baby, and how had he appeared out of nowhere? He started cooing and laughing at the baby in the mirror.

"Your Uncle Bartholomew would have loved to see this." The cat smiled. "You look so much like him! Before he started drin…before he started that bad habit of his...he used to have kind eyes and a sincere smile, like yours."

Unlike human infants, mouse babies are able to climb at an early age. We had to keep a close eye on the little one. Once he managed to crawl into the bowl of Mr. Holmes's pipe. Not long afterwards, he was near some sort of flask on the counter before we managed to stop him.

We always enjoyed spending time with our nephew, but not everyone who visited Baker Street had good news. One evening, a mouse limped up to Basil's door, nearly trembling as he knocked.

The investigator frowned as he opened the door. "Yes?"

"Innocent citizens are in danger," the injured mouse answered.

"Do come inside, and we shall discuss it further."

"Thank you, Mr. Basil." The mouse followed him inside the flat.

Dawson's eyes widened when he saw the visitor. "My dear sir, you really should consider…"

"Medical assistance is for mice with money," the visitor interrupted.

"If you would like, I could have a look at your wounds and see if I can be of service. There shall be no charge."

For a moment, the visitor was stunned. "You don't have to go through all that trouble, Doctor."

"No trouble at all," Dawson replied. "I am always willing to help a mouse in need."

"If you're sure…"

"Absolutely."

The mouse smiled. "I should be most grateful for your help, sir."

I could hardly believe what happened next. While Dawson worked, his patient kept still and made as few complaints as possible. Afterwards, he thanked the doctor again, telling him how much he appreciated his assistance. I can't remember the last time any of Dawson's patients were actually cooperative. For some reason, the poor mouse seems cursed with the horrible luck of having the most ungrateful patients in the empire.

For example, there was once a mouse who was bleeding to death. Dawson offered to tend the wounds, and the mouse refused, claiming he was unscathed. The mouse eventually became unconscious from blood loss and the pain of his injuries, and Dawson took care of him, even though he feared it was already too late. When the mouse woke up the next morning, he wasn't at all grateful that the physician saved his life; he was upset with the doctor for treating the wounds. However, if you ask Basil about any of this, he'll deny everything.

Anyway, when Dawson finished taking care of his most recent patient, Basil asked the purpose for the visitor's arrival.

"Can you stop whoever's doing this?" The mouse handed him a small square of red cloth. "For the past three weeks, many rodents in my neighborhood have been receiving patches of cloth, and those who have the misfortune of finding a cloth are sure to suffer in some way. Someone who finds a blue cloth will be drowned. Yellow cloth means someone's home will be burned to the ground…with that poor soul still inside the building. A green square means poison will be administered. Red, like I received this morning, means the victim will be left to bleed to death. Black is the worst of all, for it means an unexpected death, something very slow and painful. The only way to stop the coming attack is to follow the instructions on the note left beside the cloth and place a white cloth in place of the one left. This shows surrender, which means whoever places the white cloth will then become a member of the criminal ring that's committing so many murders."

I hadn't noticed Felicia was sitting beside me until I felt her nudge me.

"What do you say we start investigating while Basil sorts out the details of the case?" she suggested. "I'm pretty sure I know what part of town this mouse calls home."

"Alright."

Felicia muttered under her breath most of the way. It was mostly about "what kind of idiots warn their victims of the specific crime in advance" and "don't those amateurs know better than to challenge the world's greatest former criminal mind" and "when I find those imbeciles…"

"Down this alley!" she finally announced.

I stared in disbelief. "Is this a joke, cat?"

She sighed impatiently. "You're a sleuth! What do you have against alleys?"

"Nothing," I commented. "It's just that I haven't seen this much broken glass since the greenhouse two blocks away was destroyed. Is there even any cobblestone under all that gravel?"

"This is just perfect!" Felicia muttered sarcastically. "I can see the headlines now: 'Criminals Escape Prison; Detective's Fear Prevents Him From Doing Job Properly.'"

I rolled my eyes.

"So I guess I'll just have to take full credit for solving this case!"

"Alright! I'll do it!" Hesitantly placing my nose to the ground, I began to sniff the ground as I slowly walked down the alley. "You know, this would be easier if I knew what scent I was trying to find."

"Just tell me what's down there!"

"Chardonnay," I stated. "Or possibly Bordeaux."

The cat also smelled the ground. "That scent is Domaine Romanée-Conti, you idiot!"

"I'm also picking up traces of gunpowder."

Felicia grinned. "Now we're making progress!"

In a sudden burst of pain, I jerked back my head. It felt like everything between my nose and lungs was on fire. My eyes started watering, and my throat burned dreadfully.

"Cayenne pepper," the cat remarked sympathetically. "When mixed with black pepper, it can produce a mild tingle if a dog sniffs it."

"Mild my ears!" I retorted. "It hurts like you wouldn't believe!"

"I would believe it. Ratigan used to mix it with curry and put it on my wounds, especially the ones he inflicted."

I frowned. "If some churl did that to me, I'd murder the miserable…!"

"I did!" She grinned. After a pause, she shrugged. "Execution, really. It's only murder if the victim didn't deserve it." She tapped my shoulder reassuringly. "I'll help you find the trail again."

With that, she began walking toward the end of the alley as gracefully and easily as if she were strolling through the park. The shards of gravel didn't seem to hurt her paws, and she effortlessly avoided the rusty nails. She didn't even have to glance down at her paws to keep from filling them with broken glass. This was just another casual stroll to her. I never knew if it was because cats tend to be lighter on their feet than dogs are or if it was because Felicia was raised in alleys.

"Try seeing if you have better luck here!" she suggested, pausing in one particularly littered place.

"Are you out of your mind, cat?! That area of ground has 'lockjaw' written all over it!"

Sighing, Felicia rolled her eyes. "One, dogs rarely get that disease. It's more of a problem among humans and horses. Two, even if dogs could get lockjaw, you wouldn't."

"What makes you so sure?!" I demanded.

"I can't get that lucky!"

I sent a baleful lower her direction.

"You really ought to be more worried about thistemper," she continued.

"That would be 'distemper,'" I corrected.

The cat unsheathed her claws. "No, I meant _this_ temper, the wrath about to shred your ears into ribbons if you don't stop making excuses and start acting like a highly trained professional sleuth hound instead of a lapdog! Your skill at tracking leftover table scraps is beyond compare, but you'd be more useful if you started finding criminals!"

I hesitantly began walking to where she was standing, making my steps as slow and careful as possible. The gravel felt rough under my feet, and I suddenly became aware that my paws were surrounded by glass shards.

"About time you got here!"

Ignoring the cat, I sniffed the ground. "Perfume." I followed the trail to a large crate.

Felicia lowered her head, listening intently for something. Her eyes narrowed as she flattened her ears.

"I thought I smelled a rat!" she mouthed. "Get the police…NOW!"

Without demanding an explanation, I hurried to the police station as fast as I could. The police didn't understand my barking, but they knew I was Basil's dog, so they assumed (correctly) that I was on a case and needed assistance. About twenty officers climbed onto my back, and I took them to where the cat was waiting.

When we arrived, we found the crate overturned. Felicia had the tails of seven mice pinned with one of her back paws. Her front paws were busy fighting a rat.

For those who have never seen a rat fighting anything, I wouldn't recommend the experience. It almost gave me nightmares. There would be a flash of teeth or claws, ending with the cat jerking her paw away just in time. The rat would then turn to leave, only to have its tail pinned by a cat who just didn't know how to give up. Finally the cat's paw proved quicker than the rat's reflexes; Felicia's opponent was pinned by the neck. The police were then able to arrest the felons.

As Felicia explained later, when she heard me complain of the cayenne pepper scent, she knew we were dealing with a skillful group of lawbreakers, led by someone who would understand how to throw a dog off their trail. The vintage of wine that we had scented on the ground was one of the finest, so the cat knew at least one of the felons could afford luxuries; however, the gunpowder let her know that although perhaps a bit sophisticated, these delinquents were also extremely dangerous. The perfume brought her to the conclusion that the criminal in charge was female.

"That being," she concluded, "I knew that anyone so intelligent wasn't an amateur, so her actions must be the result of overconfidence. That's why she left color coded pieces of cloth to warn her victims in advance. The only woman in Mousedom who has that much skill as a criminal would be the lady that Ratigan once knew, the one who taught him how to be a proper felon, the one he almost married at the start of his criminal career. The mice with her were just her messengers."

"I should have been the one to…" I began.

"I keep telling you, dog," the cat interrupted. "A sleuth can only figure out so much. To solve a case like this, you need someone who truly understands criminal mentality."

"I'm surprised the rat didn't hurt you."

Felicia laughed. "Don't you think spending all those years under Ratigan would teach me how to keep my paws away from an angry rat?"

I thought that ended the matter, but less than a week later, our mouse nephew's parents arrived with a quilt they had found on their porch. When they asked Basil what it meant, he explained that the various colors of fabric represented all the different crimes that had been committed according to the color code of cloth. However, the center of the quilt was different. Instead of being a plain color of broadcloth, as the other patches were, the square of cloth in the center was multicolored gingham.

"This is a gift for your child. Whoever made this quilt offers you assurance that he or she will do everything possible to ensure your family should never suffer the misfortune of falling victim to any manner of criminal deeds," Basil concluded. "As for the patch in the center, what is the word 'gingham' without the first letter?"

"'Ingham,'" the child's mother replied, "like my maiden name."

"It is a tribute to your brother's memory," the investigator stated.

"Mr. Basil, who would protect my family in Bartholomew's honor?"

For once, the greatest detective in all Mousedom didn't have an answer. I told Felicia about the quilt later and asked her thoughts.

"Before he started drinking, Bartholomew was like a brother to me," she replied. "I just wanted his biological sister to know that none will ever harm her family, and I will guard her child as I would my own, for as long as I live."

I stared in disbelief. "You know how to make a quilt?!"

She shrugged. "I write. Why wouldn't I know how to sew? Besides, a baby mouse doesn't need much fabric for a good quilt. It's not like I made it for a baby human or something."


	3. For Our Conjugality

**For Our Conjugality**

To amuse ourselves between cases, the cat and I sometimes made pointless wagers. She once bet me that I couldn't find anyone I would ever consider for matrimony, and I bet her the same.

That very day, I went for a stroll through the park. There were usually other dogs there, and I hoped to be able to find a lady. Luck was with me, and there were several there. The first one I met was a miniature poodle.

She batted her eyes. "Good afternoon, handsome!"

I wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Good afternoon, ma'am."

"Do you like garbage? I know a great place! There are always plenty of old teabags to chew!"

I'm a firm believer in the idea of not judging someone before getting to know that individual, but I could already tell this relationship wasn't going to work out, so after a few minutes of polite conversation, I politely excused myself and went to see if there was another lady I could meet. The next one I found was some sort of spaniel.

"Good afternoon, Detective," she greeted. "When conversing, one should always address others by proper title."

"What is your title, ma'am?" I asked.

"Archduchess Assistant in Virtue Associate Professor Chancellor Lady of Treasure Palatine Sacristan," she replied.

It was hard enough remembering Felicia's self-appointed titles, such as "Queen of Crime," "Rani of Robbery," "Master of Muricide," etc. There was no way I would be able to remember everything the spaniel called herself.

When I returned home, I asked the cat if she'd had better luck meeting the opposite gender of her species.

"None at all!" she replied. "I met a man who seemed nice. He was an excellent singer, but he confessed that he eats at least five mice a month! I know true love involves a few compromises for each other's sake, but I can't have a mouser in my life! He'd try eating my nephew! Then I met someone who agreed with my idea that cats and mice should be friends. He'd never once eaten a mouse, but because he spent his life as a good cat, he said he couldn't associate with me since I was once a criminal!"

I nodded.

"There's only one cure for love!" Felicia concluded. "We'll have to get married."

My eyes widened in horror. "What?!"

She sighed as if she couldn't believe my stupidity. "Not to each other, nitwit!"

I sighed with relief.

"I, Felicia Hudson, take investigations in criminal justice to be my lawfully wedded career, to work and to slave, to serve and protect, until retirement does us part."

Without a doubt, that was the most ludicrous speech I'd ever heard, but I merely stated, "I, Tobias Holmes, take investigations in criminal justice to be my lawfully wedded career, to work and to slave, to serve and protect, until retirement does us part."

Big Ben tolled in the distance.

The cat smiled. "With this ring, I my career wed."

This was getting entirely too ridiculous, but I repeated, "With this ring, I my career wed." After a pause, I asked, "So if we just got married to our job, what do we do?"

She rolled her eyes. "We solve cases, stupid! That's why we're investigators instead of chefs!"

"Isn't it bad to be considered married to one's work?"

Felicia shrugged. "Basil has been for years."

"Does this mean you're divorced from your job as a criminal mastermind's accomplice?"

"Not _divorced_! _Widowed_!" She licked her lips unwittingly, remembering how Ratigan had met his demise.


	4. For A Catastrophe

**For A Catastrophe**

Being married to one's career produces no heirs. I love being Detective Tobias Holmes, but I've never had the chance to hold my own children. When I mentioned this to the cat, she grinned.

"You? A parent?" Felicia started laughing. "That will be the day I get knighted!"

"At least you'd be a good parent," I retorted. "You'd raise your children with the same love and care Ratigan used to raise you."

Before the cat could strangle me, Dr. Watson stepped through the door, holding something in his cupped hands.

Mr. Holmes raised his eyebrows. "Dare I inquire…?"

"I was tending a patient with a broken ankle, and I advised her to stay off her feet for a while. However, she lives alone and has no one to help with her housework, so I suggested that she ask a friend to stay with her. She thought the idea sounded reasonable enough, but she needs someone to watch her kitten until her friend arrives."

Mrs. Hudson took the kitten. "What an adorable little darling! What's your name, angel?"

"She said his name was Ralph. I believe she named him after a late American poet."

"Ralph Waldo Emerson," Mr. Holmes commented.

"Yes, that's the one."

I patted Felicia's shoulder and whispered softly enough that the humans wouldn't hear, "Congratulations! It's a boy!"

I enjoyed her baleful lower. (There are probably some things more fun than saying things to irritate a cat, but I can't think of any.)

"You're going to be nice to our guest," Mrs. Hudson informed us. "Toby, I don't want you chasing the poor kitten!"

Felicia purred and rubbed her head against Ralph as soon as Mrs. Hudson placed him on the floor. The kitten was cute and sweet…until the humans left the room, that is.

Ralph darted across the room and was halfway up the drapes before I caught him. As soon as I placed him back on the ground, he started shredding the fabric of every chair he could find. While I was trying to think of a way to keep him occupied that didn't involve him destroying the humans' property, he started pouncing on my tail. I didn't mind his game until he started using claws. Just when I was thinking things couldn't possibly get more stressful, Ralph darted out the pet door.

"Reichenbach Falls!" Felicia hurried after him.

I followed, but by the time we caught up with the kitten, he had managed to climb onto the lowest limb of the nearest tree.

"Come on down, Ralph," I coaxed.

He shook his head.

"Are you stuck?"

Ralph nodded.

Felicia sighed and muttered something under her breath, but she climbed the tree and retrieved the kitten, who then began along a fence. Ordinarily, there's nothing wrong with a cat walking on top of a fence, but one side of this fence was the yard of a large, vicious dog.

"If he slips, he's dead!" I remarked.

"My feet are too big to walk on that fence!" the cat stated.

At that moment, Ralph fell, thankfully on our side of the fence. I managed to catch him.

Felicia tried bribery. "Are you hungry? How would you like some seafood?"

It worked. The little pest followed us back to Baker Street and ate everything in Felicia's bowl. He then fell asleep on my favorite cushion.

"I don't know how Bartholomew did it," the cat remarked. "It's hard for two of us to keep track of a kitten smaller than we are. I was larger than Bartholomew, and he managed to keep me out of trouble."

After what seemed like an eternity, a human woman arrived at Baker Street and announced she was here to get her friend's kitten. I was finally free to return to spend the evening the way I wanted: having Mr. Holmes scratch my ears while I lay on his lap. I guess you could say it was a happy enough ending.

Oh yes, I almost forgot to mention the best part: The humans decided that Felicia needed a bath.

Of course, the happy ending was interrupted three weeks later when the cat and I had to watch a few puppies, but that's another story.


	5. For A Culprit

**For A Culprit**

Dr. Watson had long since tired of hearing the violin. Being a loyal dog, I whined sympathetically and rested my head on his shoe as he finished reading the newspaper. (Humans love it when they're in their favorite chairs, and a dog sits by their feet. I don't know what's so special about it, but it sometimes makes them happy enough to give me extra table scraps.)

Mr. Holmes finally set down the violin and began pacing a bit as he smoked his pipe. He had been deep in thought for the past two hours.

I crossed the room to where the cat was pretending to nap.

"Our humans need help," I silently mouthed.

She stood and stretched before giving a terse nod. With that, Felicia disappeared out the pet door. Curious to know what she was planning, I followed.

"We need Basil," she whispered. "Humans never pay attention to rodents. Basil will solve the case and lead you to the felon. I will motion for the mouse to follow me to the crime scene. As the humans will pay him no heed, he'll be practically invisible. He can investigate and overhear plans without the guilty party noticing. When he finds the culprit, he will let you know, and you must lead Mr. Holmes to the criminal."

I nodded and returned inside. Before another full hour had passed, I saw a mouse dart across the floor. Basil lightly tapped my paw and pointed to the door. Barking as if an intruder were outside, I raced out the pet door, knowing my humans would follow shortly. Basil had just enough time to hold a scarf under my nose before Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson stepped through the door.

Now that I had a scent to follow, I was able to track. Felicia may be able to outwit criminals more easily than I can, but I'm still better at finding them.

I had the misfortune of accidentally cornering the felon in an alley. A trapped delinquent usually fights like an army of demons, and this man proved to be no exception. I never saw what he picked up, but I suddenly noticed something large and heavy approaching my head at an alarming speed. The next thing I knew, I was lying on my side on the ground. Strangely enough, my head didn't hurt at all. My shoulder did though, but only slightly. I came to the conclusion that something had shoved me out of the way hard enough to knock me over so the object would miss my head. Someone had just saved me from a migraine, or possibly even a concussion…or worse!

Before I had time to sort it out, I heard my humans coming. Mr. Holmes quickly identified the man as the fiend he had been pursuing.

"Get that cat away from me!" the lawbreaker demanded as he glared at his ankles. "I'm allergic!"

I felt sheepish. Felicia was the world's most irritating cat, but she was also my best friend and most trusted associated, and I hadn't even noticed she was there. I should have known, even if I hadn't seen her slink silently among the shadows. Ever since she reformed, she had never abandoned me during a case, even when I purposely tried to solve mysteries without her assistance.

Felicia continued to rub against the felon's ankles, causing him to sneeze even more. In a fit of irritation, he began cursing. With all the commotion, I wasn't surprised when two constables arrived. When Mr. Holmes explained to them that he had finally met up with the culprit, they led the criminal away in irons.

Mr. Holmes lit his pipe. "Do you not find it rather intriguing, Watson, that we happened upon this insidious fiend by chance?"

"It's almost as if someone solved the case for us!" Dr. Watson joked.

Little he knew! Even as the humans spoke, Basil hid nearby, silently reveling in the fact that he had assisted Mr. Holmes with a case. I pitied Dawson and Mrs. Judson; there would be no living with Basil for the next three months, perhaps even longer.

The great human detective continued to smoke. "In your professional medical opinion, Watson, do you believe Mrs. Hudson's feline companion to be unscathed? If you observe, one of her paws appears to have swollen to some extent. Is the slight trace of discoloration reasonable cause for concern?"

That was the moment I understood. Seeing me, a dog known for detective work, the criminal had thrown the first object he found, a discarded vase, hoping to deter me so he could escape before Mr. Holmes arrived. To get me out of harm's way, Felicia had used her quick reflexes, which cats are renowned for having, to push me aside as hard as she could, hard enough to get me out of the path of the vase that came to rest on one of her front paws.

I hoped her paw was alright, but I couldn't tell, and she wasn't about to allow the humans to get close enough to examine it. (She doesn't allow anyone to get too close to her paws. I believe her reason for that has something to do with how Ratigan treated her when she was a kitten.)

The cat acted nonchalant enough. She didn't even limp. (That's one of the things I can't stand about Felicia. I've never seen her equal when it comes to faking an injury for the sake of undercover work, but when she truly is hurt, she never shows the slightest sign of discomfort. As a result, you can never tell how badly she's been harmed. Again, I believe this has something to do with the years she spent with Ratigan.)

When we returned to our flat, Dr. Watson brought Felicia several prawns and some warm milk with cream. As she enjoyed her tasty treat, he started scratching behind her ears and speaking words of comfort. Being as careful as possible, he gently took her paw in his hand. The cat's ears flattened, and she made one of those horrible noises in her throat that cats only use when angry, but she didn't hiss or scratch.

It turned out that luck was with the cat. The bones in her paw were still in tact, and if she rested as much as possible for a few days, she would be fine.

Felicia had no trouble staying off her feet. Mrs. Hudson carried her practically everywhere for the next fortnight. In fact, the cat was even allowed to sleep on furniture, including the pillow on Mrs. Hudson's bed. All three humans offered her salmon, extra table scraps of pâté de foie gras and filet mignon, even more prawns, and any other delicacies they could find.

"How strange it is!" she told me later. "I was only hit by the corner of the vase. The ground itself took the brunt of the blow. I can't understand why the humans are making such a fuss over it. Why, when I was a kitten, Ratigan used to…" Hearing Big Ben toll in the distance, Felicia smiled. "What difference does it make what he did to me? All that matters now is what I did to him!"

That night, a mouse was foolish enough to wander into a trap that Mr. Holmes had set. Although the sleuth did not believe we had an infestation of rodents, he had consented to set the traps in order to get any peace from Mrs. Hudson. Being far more clever than most people, Mr. Holmes had hidden the trap well and made it far more appealing to rodents than the typical trap, which holds only a small piece of bait and nothing more.

Fortunately for the mouse, it was the kind of trap that catches rodents alive rather than breaking their necks. Unfortunately, this mouse was a notorious thief in the rodent world, and Basil noticed him before Mr. Holmes had the chance to check the traps. Basil summoned Mouseland Yard, who stood before the trap as the great mouse detective managed to release the bandit.

"I find this rather amusing," Felicia remarked when I told her the story. "Basil helped Mr. Holmes solve a case, and Mr. Holmes has unwittingly returned the favor."


	6. For A Conclusion

**For A Conclusion**

I know eavesdropping is impolite, but I couldn't resist watching through the window when Bryna and her husband came to visit. Basil hated the fact that his brother-in-law was a former criminal, but Bryna insisted he was a good mouse.

"I brought someone you might want to meet." Bryna beamed and handed her brother a small bundle that squirmed a lot.

Basil frowned at the bundle. "What have you done?!"

Bryna looked as if she had been slapped. "You just became an uncle for the first time, and your first words are 'What have you done?!'"

"What did you expect?" Basil retorted. "I can hardly congratulate you for bringing a felon's child into the world!"

The baby mouse started crying, shrieking as it flailed its small fists. Basil tried to hand the infant back to its mother, but Bryna crossed her arms.

"Blame me for what you will, but the child has done no wrong!" she stated. "You need practice soothing the baby, _Uncle_."

Basil had never been fond of children, and this one was no exception. Fortunately, Mrs. Judson was only too eager to cuddle the baby and make it happy again.

The child's father never took his eyes off the infant, always smiling at the child fondly as he lightly clasped Bryna's hand. He may have been one of Ratigan's men in the past, but now his former criminal heart was nothing but tender. I could tell the only thing in the world that mattered to him was his family.

After a while, Bryna smiled at her baby and remarked, "We should go meet your Uncle Cliff." On her way out the door, she paused as Basil called her name. "Yes?"

"Congratulations." Basil attempted to smile. "I shall attempt to make a slight contribution for Christmas and the anniversary of the day the child was born."

When I told Felicia about the baby mouse, she smiled.

"You see," the cat began, "why do we need our own spouses and children? We have Bartholomew's nephew to snuggle, and now we have Basil's niece or nephew as well."

I had to agree that she had a point. All's well that ends w…

Hold that thought. Someone's at the door. It's probably someone else with a case for Mr. Holmes. There is never any real conclusion at Baker Street, only the beginning of the next case.


End file.
